


Brother in Conflict

by feverbeats



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-07
Updated: 2011-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:39:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ned, listen to me. I love Lyanna more than life, but she need never know of this. What's the harm in a little light play between friends?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brother in Conflict

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a Voxtrot song. AND THIS IS IN THE STYLE OF GoT. OR MY APPROXIMATION OF IT. YOU'RE WELCOME. why did i write this. Additional warning: dub-con.

Robert was drunk the first time. He was drunk the second time, and the third, and nearly every other time as well (all save one), but the first was the one that always stuck in Ned's mind.

They were young, and Robert already loved Lyanna with all his heart. As for Ned, such things were far from his mind. He gave no thought to love when duty would always come first. And in those days, even before Robert's kingship, his first duty was to Robert.

So it was that after a day of sparring in one of the great yards of the Eyrie, Ned began to look on his duty in a different light. The two boys, not yet out of their adolescence, were sitting together in front of the fire, drinking wine and talking together.

"You don't know how to have  _fun_ , damn you," Robert swore, slapping Ned hard on the leg. "Try to take off that sullen face of yours, just for tonight."

In truth, Ned did not feel sullen, merely weary and full of too much wine. His limbs felt loose and heavy, and he realized dimly that Robert's hand was still on his leg.

"I can certainly try," he said mildly, "but someone has to stay alert and see that you don't fall into the fire."

Robert laughed. "You're a stubborn man, Ned. Far too stubborn for my liking." He rubbed Ned's thigh absently, his fingers hot through the cloth.

Ned inclined his body toward Robert's, pleased and drowsy. It was a rare day when he let down his guard, but Robert had practically insisted. Ned rested there with his hip against Robert's, feeling the warmth of the fire.

Robert squeezed Ned's leg gently and let his head fall to Ned's shoulder. He'd had more wine than Ned, as always, and he was languorous with it. Ned shifted slightly and Robert's hand slid to the inside of his thigh, rubbing patterns there. His hand glided upward and Ned spread his legs involuntarily.

Ned swallowed a breathy little gasp and was immediately brought back to himself.

"But Lyanna," he started, aghast.

Robert cursed under his breath. "Ned, listen to me. I love Lyanna more than life, but she need never know of this. What's the harm in a little light play between friends?"

Ned thought more of it than some  _light play_ , but Robert's hand was hot on his arm. "My sister's honor, Robert."

"I've lain with maids before," Robert says, waving his hand. "Or did you think me as virginal as you?"

Ned hated to prove Robert right, but he could do little to hide his blush. Beyond a few stray kisses, never initiated by him, he had very little experience. That had always been Robert's area of interest.

"You do her dishonor," he said stoically when he had recovered his composure. "You still intend to marry her, and yet you would—" He stopped himself.  _Lie with me_  sounded absurd. Men like Robert Baratheon did not lie with other men. Leave that to pretty lads in far-off kingdoms.

"Yes, I would," Robert said firmly. "Why must you complicate everything? It means nothing and will be gone with the wine. Lyanna would want us to be bonded. More than blood, Ned, that's what we are."

Ned often wondered, in the years to come, whether it was the wine or the sound of Robert's voice that made him relent.

He angled his body awkwardly towards Robert's, holding himself stiff as the nerves gripped him. What did Robert mean to do?

Robert quickly made that plain by placing on hand on Ned's hip and groping the front of his trousers with the other. Ned felt himself stir under Robert's touch. He groaned, and Robert chucked in the back of his throat, pleased.

"There's life in you after all," he said, stroking Ned through the cloth. He moved to undo Ned's trousers, and Ned could not bring himself to stop him.

"This is—" Ned tried, troubled, as Robert wrapped one large hand around his cock.

"It's not the same as all those little princesses of Lannister," Robert laughed, "if that's what you're worried about."

Ned was tempted to say he'd never heard that of the Lannisters, although he'd heard it of a few other houses, but he said nothing. Robert's touch was searing hot and Ned was dizzy with wine and need.

Robert undid his own trousers and guided Ned's hand so they were stroking one another. Ned had barely touched himself like this, at least that he liked to think of. Robert was another matter entirely.

"Yes," Robert muttered under his breath, "like that. I-- _oh_. Gods. Your rhythm's so  _uneven_ , damn it. You'll never bring me off like this." Nonetheless, he shoved himself eagerly into Ned's hand.

Ned squeezed his eyes shut and lost himself to the motion of Robert's hand on him and the bob and thrust of Robert's cock in his palm. It wasn't long before Ned was coming, biting his lip and refusing to cry out. Robert thrust roughly a few more times and came all over Ned's hand.

Ashamed and sticky, Ned pulled away almost immediately, breathing raggedly. He hardly knew what had just happened, or what he had allowed to happen. All he knew was that if it was a mistake, it was one he did not mind having made.

Robert was already reclining on the floor and drifting into sleep without another thought. Ned frowned and wiped his hand on his trousers. He would return to his room to sleep.

They did not speak of it in the morning, but it was not the last time.

Ned could not have said how many times they touched in this way, or in other ways, over the years. He was certain it was less than twenty, or nearly certain. Once or twice he took Robert's manhood inside him, but he preferred to use his mouth. Robert liked that as well, taking Ned's mouth with his hands fisted in Ned's dark hair. They never spoke of it the next day, and while Robert was always drunk, he was never drunk past the point of knowing what he did.

Every time, Ned froze for a second when Robert touched him. He was torn between honor and duty, between what he owed Lyanna (and later Catelyn, and Robert's queen) and what he owed Robert.

What Ned wanted was never a consideration. Most times, he was not sure himself. He told himself he was allowed his selfish desires to corrupt him, but that did not account for how blank and dull he felt when Robert touched him. He could say that Robert was forcing him, especially after he took the throne, but that did not account for the small, vicious, personal satisfaction Ned took from being taken by Robert.

It was something all his own, for good or ill, and he feared it would be for ill. For all his honor, this could not be explained away or excused.

Once, Robert called him Rhaegar, among other words. His fingers bruises Ned's hips as he took him like a dog. That was not love-making; it was vengeance. Afterwards he said, "Forgive me, Ned," and Ned did.

Once, Robert called him Lyanna. Ned forgave him even that.

The last time was just before the end, just after Ned was made Hand. He should have seen it coming, looking back, but as Robert had always told him, Ned always expected other men to be  _him_.

Robert called Ned to his chambers in the night. The queen was nowhere to be seen and Robert had no drink in his hand.

"Ned," Robert said, looking a little rueful. "You came. I wasn't sure you would."

"The Hand follows his king's orders," Ned said lightly. "Because, I was awake. Why not come?"

Robert shook his head. "You'd think you'd know, after all this time. After all, the Hand speaks with the king's mouth, walks with the king's feet, and—well. What the king's hand does . . ." Robert started, and it was a joke, but the joke died when his touch lingered on Ned's wrist for too long.

 _I should have known_ , Ned thought, but before he had time to be upset, a different thought replaced it. "Did Jon Arryn do this?" he asked sharply. He was not sure if he felt angry on Jon's behalf or slighted on his own.

Robert's eyebrows went up. "Well, of course. Jon and I were always close."

Ned felt cold. He had not known Robert as well as he thought, then, not even in their youth. It was as if he was learning that his father had lain with Robert.

"But don't worry," Robert said, slapping Ned's shoulder, "of course I prefer you. Always did. Noble Ned." He shook his head. "I feel as though all I do is berate you or apologize to you. The things you do to a man."

Ned inclined his head. "Then allow me to make up for it, my lord."

Robert looked hurt, which had been Ned's intent. He wanted it made quite clear that this was an act of a servant for a king and nothing more. Robert did not watch as Ned undid his trousers and wrapped a firm hand around his cock.


End file.
